


Where the Sunshine Meets the Storm

by antuday



Category: Trolls (2016), Trolls: World Tour (2020)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Branch, BAMF Poppy, Betrayal, Branch (Trolls) has Anxiety, Branch (Trolls) has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Poppy, Mental Health Issues, Mild Blood, Mild Horror, Swearing, Visions of the Future, basically everyone from both movies is in this, more like sorta-friends to lovers tbh, slowish-burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23951872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antuday/pseuds/antuday
Summary: Two hundred years ago, six Troll clans escaped from the clutches of the Bergen Empire, and separated to start over someplace new.Two hundred years later, Princess Poppy prepares to throw the biggest, loudest, craziest party ever to celebrate said escape...… Only to find one of her closest friends unconscious in the middle of the woods.Everything after that goes downhill pretty quickly.With most of her friends gone and the apocalypse set to happen in less than a month, Poppy teams up with Branch, her nemesis and polar opposite, on a daring mission to save everyone.But both soon find themselves in hopeless positions: Poppy is forced to watch the world as she knows it crumble as the truth of Trollopia resurfaces, and Branch is confronted with a past that he can no longer hide from.In the midst of the chaos, Poppy and Branch find solace - and a possible solution - in the most unexpected places: in themselves--and each other.
Relationships: Branch/Poppy (Trolls), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 28





	1. Trollopia

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first work on ao3, also posted on Wattpad. I really hope you enjoy!

_The story begins like this: an entire city is conquered in the course of two weeks._

_Trollopia is big and prosperous, with sparkling lakes and green grass; and, of course, a massive population._

_For the Bergen Empire, this is a prize._

_For the people of Trollopia, this is the end of everything they know._

_The Trollopians are split into six groups and scattered across the Empire; each group begins their own way of life. They forget who they once were._

_And every year,_

_the people of the Empire gather together at town square, where there sits a gladiator ring._

_Ten Trollopians are selected to fight to the death in this ring. They enter in groups of two._

_They fight their friends in this ring for the entertainment of barbarians._

_It's cruel. It's horrifying._

_The leaders of each clan decide that this must come to an end._

_According to the story, one representative from each clan called for a meeting in an old building._

_Twenty years after that day, all six clans escaped._

_But the clans soon realized that their time apart had made them different- far too different to ever be whole again._

_So each clan went their separate ways, protected their domains with magical barriers, and never spoke to each other again._

This story, is not that story. 

This story is about Princess Poppy, and how one party completely changed the world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you think!


	2. Woman In The Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poppy asks for help, gets insulted, gets angry, gets lost, gets saved, and gets to her destination - all in the span of twenty-four minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poppy's POV chapters will be in third person, while Branch's POV chapters will be in first person freestyle poetry. Hope you like it!

There are only two ways to get to the schoolhouse in the centre of town: through the Bramblewood Forest along Kelpie River, or through the market, at its busiest time of day.

Most people would choose the market. It's a very close-knit community and the market means friendly faces and extravagant items. But it also means large crowds and long lines, and you're already running behind on time. You only have thirty minutes with the children, and you can't afford to be even a minute late to Storytime.

Still, it's better than the Bramblewood Forest, where there are no friendly faces nor extravagant items - just an old bunker entrance that you know better than to go into.

And you know a lot of people, know about all the gossip. You've heard all the stories about those who hung around Kelpie River and were never seen again.

But Bramblewood Forest isn't completely empty. There's a _person_ who lives in the old bunker that you know better than to go into (he's a bit of a recluse, a hermit, and definitely _not_ a friendly face, if you're being honest). And he knows his way around.

So maybe if you're extra kind, and extra charismatic, and proceed to annoy him until you get your way, you'll get to the schoolhouse with time to spare.

■ ■ ■

There's only one problem with this plan, though: the hermit who lives in Bramblewood Forest

1\. Is as stubborn as a mule.

and

2\. Clearly, utterly, despises you.

"Oh. _You_ again."

Poppy plasters a cheerful (fake) smile on her face and smoothes down her skirt. "Hi, Branch! How are you?"

It's not that Poppy hates Branch. She's the princess of the happiest kingdom on Earth, for goodness' sake! She's systematically programmed with the complete inability to hate. Hating people doesn't make you happy, as her father says, and Poppy agrees with that statement one-hundred-percent. So _no,_ Poppy does _not_ hate Branch.

He sighs in annoyance. "What do you want now?"

Buuuuuut.

There is a _slight_ chance that she kinda-sorta-maybe-possibly just... deeply dislikes him.

"Well, _Branch,_ as you may have heard, the 200th Anniversary of the Great Escape party is this Saturday, and-"

He holds up a hand to cut her off. "I'm not going."

Poppy huffs. "Believe it or not, that isn't what I was going to ask you."

Branch raises an eyebrow, looking completely deadpan, and crosses his arms.

A beat of silence. Then another. Then-

"Well?" He throws his arms in the air, exasperated. "Are you going to tell me, or are you going to stand there in silence and make me read your mind?"

"This is going to be the _biggest_ party of the _decade_ ," Poppy continues, tone delicately irritated, " and _everybody_ is going to be there. Including the children. As Princess, it's my job to tell the story of Trollopia to those children, which I won't be able to do if _I can't get there on time._ The markets are too crowded, and the only other way to get to the schoolhouse is through the forest, which only _you_ know your way around. That being said," she takes a deep breath, bats her eyelashes innocently.

"I think what I'm trying to ask you is pretty self explanatory, wouldn't you say?"

Branch's right eye twitches. He looks annoyed, maybe even angry. With a glare and then a sigh, Branch uncrosses his arms and grits out a "Fine."

He turns around suddenly, abruptly, and starts walking.

Poppy blinks. _Well.That was..._

Rude?

Helpful?

A step closer to friendship?

She's not really sure.

But because she's a reasonable woman, and because she doesn't think she could handle disappointed children, Poppy skips after him without another word.

■ ■ ■ 

It's been five minutes.

Five minutes since the two of them had their little spat (turned truce) and Branch, ever the gracious tour guide, has not said a single word.

So the trip is mostly silent, aside from the twigs and stray branches (ha, puns) that crunch with each step they take; aside from the rushing water of Kelpie River, not too far away; aside from the gentle _woosh-_ ing of the wind tousling through the trees.

Now, forgive her for being a people person, but it should only take two minutes of silence - by Trollopian standard - until somebody strikes up a conversation.

That mark has long since passed, Poppy decides.

"Sooo," she drawls, "How've you been?"

Branch ignores her, keeps walking.

"Lovely weather we've been having."

He doesn't respond.

"You know, it takes two to make a conversation work, Branch."

Finally, _finally,_ he spins around on his heel, and pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "Listen, Princess. I could be doing literally anything else with my time right now. I could be perfecting my traps, or building more traps, or reading a good book from the comfort of my bunker, where it's nice and quiet. But I'm not doing any of that. Wanna know why?"

Poppy doesn't interject, so he continues. (Poppy has a feeling he wouldn't have stopped either way.)

"Because a dumb princess came to me _begging_ for my help getting to school on time so she can tell a dumb story to a bunch of dumb kids, and even though she only ever listens to me when it's convinient for her, I chose to help her anyway. And y'know what?" Branch says snarkily, stepping forward and poking a finger at her chest.

"I don't have to do that. I could walk away right now and leave her here to rot, and that'd be the end of it. I don't owe this idiot anything, much less a conversation. Wouldn't you say, _Poppy_?"

Okay. Okay, now she's _mad._

Because honestly, how _dare_ he.

Branch has been nothing but rude to her since _childhood_. He's destroyed countless handmade invitations that she spent _hours_ on, and called them garbage. He's insulted her. He's berated her to tears. He's ruined so many parties, and he's cost her so many friends.

Hell, Mandy _still_ hasn't forgiven her for the time Poppy invited Branch to her birthday party (which resulted in Mandy getting engaged to Cherrywood the clown, getting married to Cherrywood the clown, and then getting to deal with Branch showing up randomly at her _husband's funeral_ screaming about how it was all a 'sign' that the Bergens were coming).

And how, you may ask, did Poppy exact her revenge?

By sticking up for him when people made fun of him. By including him in every event, activity and party, even when he was at his worst. By persistently trying to be his friend when no one else would.

And now Branch was calling her dumb.

Calling the children, who just want to be safe and happy, dumb.

Calling the city the ancestors sacrificed _everything_ for, dumb.

Poppy's blood is boiling. She's never been so- so _angry_ before in her _life_.

"Look, I _know_ you don't wanna be here right now. And I know you'd rather be doing anything else right now, I know you hate me and hate everyone else in the entire goddamned kingdom, and y'know what? That's fine. Because the idiot princess who so _desperately_ needed your help is actually perfectly okay with marching through a crowded marketplace, or wandering the woods by herself, or even fucking _swimming in Kelpie River_ if it means not spending all the time she has to get to the schoolhouse arguing with you! You're a horrible friend, and an even worse person, and it was stupid to think you'd ever care about anybody other than yourself-"

"Are you done?" Branch interrupts, looking... remarkably bored, actually. "Because for someone who claims to be only going this way to save time, you sure do talk a lot. In fact," he pauses - looks at his watch. "You've kept this up for three consecutive minutes."

His eyes comically widen, tone dripping with faux concern. "Wait- wouldn't that leave you with only seven minutes to get to the schoolhouse because you spent the rest of your time yelling at me? Oh _no_. Princess, I am so ridiculously sorry."

Then he smirks. "But it's nice to know you have your priorities straight."

Poppy hates it. She hates that dumb smirk, hates the way he holds himself when he thinks he's won, hates the way that despite her trying so hard to be civil with him, he's horrible to her anyway.

He turns around, ready to leave, and Poppy's mouth is suddenly moving, forming words before she can process them.

"Would it really kill you to be nice for just- just once! That's all! It's really not that hard!"

Branch stops walking.

For a moment, it feels like time has stopped. The roaring of Kelpie River, the sound of wind rustling through the trees; all of it falls on deaf ears.

His back is still turned to her, so Poppy can't see what he's feeling.

Anger?

Sadness?

Does he even _care_?

A beat of silence.

Then-

"Remember when we were in fourth grade?" Branch asks out of the blue. "Back when Mrs. Guffin was our teacher?"

The question is so random and unexpected and _different_ from the previous direction of the conversation that it makes Poppy nearly double over in surprise.

"....Yes?"

"I hated her, y'know," he continues, stuffing his hands into his pockets, turning to face Poppy. "She was so fake. All she ever cared about was making sure that everything and everyone was perfect, and people who didn't fit her standards were mocked and patronized and until they were 'fixed'."

Poppy really, really doesn't know what to say. So she just... stands there, and motions for him to continue.

"One day, she told us to write an essay about our family, " he says.

Poppy remembers that day. She had written a long, long essay about how much she loved her dad and her friends, and Mrs. Guffin had given her a sparkly gold star and her dad had framed the essay over the fireplace. She remembers _something_ about everybody's paper (Biggie's Aunt Eunice teaching him how to bake, Smidge's father sharing a love of fitness with her, etc.) except for Branch's.

"I didn't write one," Branch clarifies. "After class, the woman pulled me aside and confronted me about it. She told me it was okay, that I didn't have to write the paper right now." He scoffs. "Spewed out a bunch of bullshit about how if I could change my attitude and be nicer to people, I could make some friends and then I wouldn't be so alone. Once that happened, It would be easier to turn in the paper. Spoiler alert," the corner of his mouth slightly turns upward. "I never wrote it. And I never changed. I think that last bit pissed her off more than anything."

"Why are you telling me this?" Poppy asks.

"Because," Branch replies, his face suddenly hardening. "Because she reminds me of _you_."

Poppy is taken aback. "What?"

"You," he says, marching forward. His glare is piercing, his eyes like storms. 

"-Are only ever nice to people when it benefits you. You never listen to me or even _pretend_ to respect me as an equal, and then you try to be my friend. You make it clear that you're always right, and that I'm always crazy-talking, and last time I checked, friends don't do that to each other. Best of all, you invite me to parties even when it's clear I'm not interested because you want the world to know how _kind_ and _patient_ you are with the town _freak_ -"

"That-That is NOT true!" Poppy protests. " _None_ of that is true!"

"Ohhh, isn't it? Then _why_ are you even here? Because you willingly wanted to spend time with me, or because you wanted something from me? More specifically, a tour of Bramblewood Forest, maybe?"

Branch's words are like razors, piercing through her skin. She wants to yell at him, scream at him, curse at him with everything she's got, but she doesn't.

Because really, Poppy is not as angry as she is tired.

She's so, _so_ tired.

"Fine," she seethes, gritting her teeth. "Fine. I'm sorry I bothered you."

She turns around and walks away, blinking tears out of her eyes, and it's only after she's a good distance away from him when Poppy realizes two things:

That she's definitely late for storytime now.

and

She has no idea where she is.

_Fuck_.

■ ■ ■

_Everything is fine._

Poppy repeats that phrase in her head like a mantra. _Everything is fine._ _Everything is fine- no, great! No, fantastic!_

Everything is FANTASTIC.

Sure, her encounter with Branch ended in disaster, and now she's by herself in the woods, and tree branches keep smacking her in the face and the colorful pink slippers Sage the shoemaker gave her are covered in mud and she's late for Storytime and everything is undoubtedly _not_ fine-

But there's always a bright side to things, no matter how small, and Poppy is determined to find it.

Then she hears it.

_**꧁꧁** _ _¿Estás sola?_ _**꧂꧂** _

A voice. Someone was singing. 

_**꧁꧁** _ _No estés sola_ _**꧂** _ _**꧂** _

It starts out slow, soft. Then it gets louder and stronger and _holy cupcakes_.

Poppy doesn't recognize the song. It's in a language she doesn't know. But the voice, the music; it speaks volumes.

_**꧁꧁** Acércate más querida **꧂**_ _**꧂** _

The voice is soft and fleeting, a gorgeous soprano. It's strong and passionate and- and-

Beautiful. It's the most beautiful thing she's ever heard.

Her feet move with her mind- towards the voice.

Who could possibly have a voice so beautiful?

_**꧁꧁** _ _**Así que no tengas miedo.** _ _**꧂꧂** _

She pushes past some bushes and there it is.

Standing by Kelpie River is a snow-white horse with a silky mane and a strong body. It looks like it'd just gone for a swim, because there's river water dripping from all over. It's graceful and quick, bending over to take a drink. And then, after the horse stops drinking, the voice comes back, more beautiful than ever. 

_**꧁꧁** _ **_No tengas miedo_.** _**꧂꧂** _

It takes a little longer than usual to realize that the voice is coming from the horse.

A singing horse. 

A singing horse with a bridle and a saddle. 

Huh. 

That's... not normal. It is the opposite of normal, it is the fifth strangest thing that has ever happened to her and- 

And Poppy really, really wants to ride it, and she doesn't know why.

On one hand, if she does ride the horse, she'll definitely be late for Storytime. 

On the other, if she doesn't ride the horse, she'll probably wander around the forest until she finds her way out, and then she'll definitely be late for Storytime, and she might never see this magical horse ever again. 

So she tiptoes closer to the creature, not wanting to scare it off. But then she steps on a stray stick, and it turns it's head, suddenly, and it spots her with piercing eyes.

Poppy doesn't move, because she knows how unruly wild horses can be, and after everything that's happened, she really doesn't want to add _'getting trampled by a musical horse_ ' to that list. 

But it doesn't run away. Instead it stares at her, as if in awe. 

And there's something about the way it stares at her, something enchanting and alluring, and the world falls silent, it's just her and this majestic creature. 

Deep in her gut, something feels wrong. Something about the situation feels suspicious, but Poppy brushes that thought aside. _What harm can something so beautiful possibly do?_

She walks forward, arm stretched out and ready to pet it. 

She gets closer

And closer

Until her fingertips are almost grazing it's nose-

_**"POPPY!"** _

One minute, she was seconds away from petting a horse. The next? 

She's being brutally tackled to the ground by a familiar black-haired blur. 

"BRANCH WHAT THE _HELL_ ARE YOU DOING?!" She yells, thrashing violently in his arms and managing to swing a fist to his face. 

He pins her arms to the ground, and at first she's scared (sure, Branch was mean, but he wouldn't do _that_ to her, would he?), but then she calms down at takes a good look at her surroundings. 

Firstly, the horse is gone- but that's not the weird part. The weird part is that there are no broken twigs indicating it ran away, or really any sign at all. 

It was as if it was never there. 

Secondly, Branch's nose is bleeding. Which means Poppy hit him. He pinned her down not because he wanted to hurt her, but because he didn't want _her_ to hurt _him_ (anymore than she already had, that is). 

Thirdly, Branch is on top of her, which. Wow.

Never in a million years had she ever imagined that would happen. 

Fourthly, Poppy is lying right at the edge of the river bank. One little push, and she'd fall right into Kelpie River. 

She could've drowned. All because of a damn musical equine. 

Branch is panting in short, heavy breaths. A drop of blood drips off his nose and onto the lace collar of Poppy's turquoise dress. Once he realizes she's not going to go all psycho on him, he gets off of her and releases her wrists. He stands up, attempts to wipe the blood off his nose with the back of his left hand, then offers Poppy a hand up with his right. 

Poppy accepts, a small, sheepish smile on her face. "Sorry." 

Branch ignores her, pulls her up. Then he glares at her. "Sorry for what? Punching me or trying to drown yourself?" 

"I wasn't trying to _drown_ myself, Branch, calm _down_ -"

"Then what were you doing? Bobbing for cupcakes?" 

"No! Of course not, don't be ridiculous."

"Then what?" 

"I... I heard singing," she says. "Beautiful, beautiful singing. I followed it, trying to figure out who was singing, and I wound up here and saw this beautiful horse-" 

"Let me get this straight," Branch says. "You almost drowned because you were attracted to the singing...of a horse." 

"Well when you say it like that, it does sound a bit crazy," Poppy admits. "But honestly! that's what happened! I know you might not believe me, but it's the truth." 

The surprising thing is that Branch isn't looking at her like she's crazy. He looks slightly angry, and maybe a little worried, and even kind of guilty, but no doubt is evident. 

"Poppy," he says slowly, as though speaking to a child. "Where did you see it?" 

"Near the river."

"And it always stayed close to the river no matter how close you got, right?"

"Um, yeah." 

"What about it's mane? Was it wet?" 

"...Why is that important?" 

"Answer the question, Poppy." 

"Yes. Yes it did." 

"Then it wasn't a horse," Branch says grimly. 

Poppy blinks. "...Say what now?" 

"I've lived here long enough to know that nobody within the area of Bramblewood Forest owns any horses," he explains seriously. "And this place is strangely desert- no wild horses." 

A thought hits her like a wall of bricks. "So if it's not from town, and there aren't any horses in the forest then...," she glances back to the river and a shudder runs down her spine. 

"Where'd it come from?" 

"I don't know," Branch says, leading her away. "And I hope we'll never have to find out." 

■ ■ ■ 

This is maybe the third time they've walked down this path. 

Poppy recognizes the bushes that sorta-kinda look like scoops of pistachio ice cream; recognizes the rough dirt that keeps sliding into the damaged soles of her shoes; recognizes the trees that look like a cross between oak and maple; recognizes that one rock that looks like it has a smiley face. 

Branch doesn't try to talk to her, but he does keep a somewhat protective hand on her wrist and glance at her from the corner of his eyes from time to time. To make sure she doesn't wander off again, because even if he barely ever shows it, Branch doesn't... hate her. 

Maybe he just deeply dislikes her. 

The thought makes Poppy smile. 

■ ■ ■

"Well, here we are," he announces later. "Civilization." 

Poppy doesn't hesitate. Not even a little bit. 

She jumps over a bush and stumbles over a few rocks, and then she's there. 

Trollopia is usually bustling with excitement at this time of day, but Poppy supposes that the upcoming party has everyone huddled together at the market, picking out garments and jewels and fun accessories. 

So it's no surprise that here, on the outskirts of town, it's almost desert. 

Almost. 

In the distance, Poppy sees the school building, and a bunch of children playing on the playground. 

One of them spots her from their place on the monkey bars, and soon everyone is waving her over, huge smiles on their little faces. 

And before Poppy walks over with a matching grin, internally contemplating how she's going to apologize for her tardiness, she turns her head and flashes Branch a quick, thankful smile. 

He gives her a curt nod, then slips back into the woods, unseen and unoticed. 

Maybe if she had looked back just once more after that, she would have noticed a tiny, inky reptilian figure slinking away into the shadows. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am actually clueless when it comes to Spanish, so if any of the translations are incorrect, please let me know!


	3. i've been stuck in a cage (with my doubt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the rest of the kingdom prepares for the party, Branch writes about Poppy, rants about Creek, and panics when his visions take a sinister turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Branch's POV
> 
> also, please excuse the shitty poetry. I am by no means an expert.

_Wednesday, 10:07_

** Words  **

One of the only things I remember from my past are the words- 

_Tan fuerte, pero tan débil._

I think it was my Grandfather who said it. 

I don't remember much about him

(because he's _dead_ , and I was young)

except for his stoic face and gruff voice;

I'm pretty sure I get a lot of who I am from him. 

I don't remember when he said it, or why, 

but if he was here today, I bet he'd sound disappointed. 

Like-

When I see those idiots putting on another over-the-top, Bergen luring display, 

and I go over to warn them,

even though I know they won't listen (they never _listen!_ ) -

In my head, Grandpa says, _"Tan fuerte, pero tan débil."_

When I unsurprisingly hurt someone in one way or another

-usually Poppy- 

I imagine Grandpa shaking his head and saying, _"Tan fuerte, pero tan débil."_

Now, as Poppy leaves for the school, away from the forest,

(̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶s̶h̶e̶ ̶o̶n̶l̶y̶ ̶w̶e̶n̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶b̶e̶c̶a̶u̶s̶e̶ ̶s̶h̶e̶ ̶h̶a̶d̶ ̶n̶o̶ ̶c̶h̶o̶i̶c̶e̶)̶ 

I wonder why I helped her.

She's annoying and insufferable and doesn't listen to me,

So why? 

Because. 

Because, just like Grandpa said-

I am 

_Tan fuerte, pero tan débil-_

So strong, yet so weak. 

So, _so_ weak. 

** Poppy  **

And I have known each other since childhood

But we don't actually _know_ each other, you know? 

Like, I know she's the princess, obviously, 

and that she's insanely happy, 

and that she loves parties

and that's she's _completely naïve_

and that she wouldn't know a real problem if it hit her in the face

and that she's obsessed with hugging

and that she's... got a nice voice

and that she dances as if nobody's watching

and that she has eyes like liquid chocolate

and that she has a smile like the sun

(all bright and luminescent and warm) 

and-

** Poppy II **

The point is that personally, we don't know each other. 

She knows nothing about me,

save for the fact that I live in the woods

away from society

away from the fun and games

like some kind of _psychopath._

(If being concerned about the Bergens finding us and enslaving us and possibly torturing us makes me a psychopath, then fine. I'm a psychopath.)

** Poppy III (I promise, this is the last one) **

Doesn't know about what I like

(because there's more to my life than setting traps, okay!) 

She doesn't know about my family

(̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶s̶h̶e̶ ̶n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ ̶w̶i̶l̶l̶)̶

She doesn't know about survival

(which, will ultimately be her downfall) 

And she doesn't know that 

there's probably something 

_actually_ wrong with me, 

something evil 

something scary,

something invisible,

something that can't be fixed with an attitude change.

(But it's nice to pretend she does know, 

and she cares anyway-

-because wouldn't that be wonderful?) 

But... 

There is a part of me that wonders what life would be like 

if I gave in to them. 

If I threw away my traps, 

changed everything about myself

and moved into town - maybe start a bakery or something- 

If I joined the parties,

and the songs, 

and the hugs-

what would life be then? 

Sure, the Bergens would find us and we'd all die but...

would that really be so bad? 

If I died knowing that there were people who liked me? 

If I died knowing I wasn't alone? 

If I died knowing that Poppy could look at me

and see a person, an _option_ , and not an obligation? 

But then I remember: 

Poppy will be Queen one day-

The children are going to be in fourth grade next year-

The new waterslide is opening next month-

In two weeks, Moonfruit will be back in the markets-

and if I don't do something, anything, to keep us all safe, 

then

 _none_ of that will happen. 

And Poppy would never even like me anyway,

whether I was a happy-go-lucky moron 

or a paranoid crazy person living in the woods. 

Of that, I am certain. 

** Poppy IV (OK, so, I lied)  **

I don't like her. 

I don't. 

Okay, fine. Whatever. I do.

So does three quarters of Trollopia. Big Deal. 

The most frustrating thing isn't that I like her, though. 

The most frustrating thing is that I don't know _why._

There's no fucking logic behind it! 

She treats me like a lab rat (I don't think she means to, though) 

and I've consistently been a jerk to her since she was four years old. 

She's attractive, sure, beautiful, even

(̶w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶p̶e̶r̶f̶e̶c̶t̶ ̶b̶i̶g̶ ̶e̶y̶e̶s̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶a̶ ̶r̶a̶d̶i̶a̶n̶t̶ ̶s̶m̶i̶l̶e̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶h̶a̶i̶r̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶l̶o̶o̶k̶s̶ ̶s̶o̶ ̶f̶u̶c̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶s̶o̶f̶t̶-̶)̶

but it's not like Trollopia is full of hideous, ugly creatures and Poppy's the one exception. 

There are other girls out there with soft hair and big smiles, but-

it's not the same, for some reason. 

It can't be that "she's the only person who's ever resisted me before and my incredibly fragile yet masculine ego is at heavy risk" like some romance novels seem to diagnose.

Because _come on_. Have you _met_ me? 

(Also, "resist" in that context sounds really weird and creepy as hell. Please redact that.)

  
It's not because she's royalty- definitely not. People already kind of hate me and I can't guarantee there wouldn't be a mutiny if I ever did ascend the throne.

Also, too much pressure. I barely sleep as it is. 

Maybe Poppy's bewitched me with magic 

just to make me miserable. 

She's controlling and manipulating my feelings;

Yeah, that's probably why. 

(that's not why.) 

_(The way she moves so much - dorky, and random, and carefree, like the world isn't there-_

_The way she's so persistent in anything and everything, her unwavering determination-_

_The way she smiles sometimes - big and bright, like she wants the whole universe to feel as happy as she does-_

_The other way she smiles sometimes, even though it's rare- like she's touched and happy in a personal way, all soft and shy and something just for you (the way she smiled at me today, the way she smiles at me,_ period _)-_

_The way her eyes shine when she's excited, like she's overflowing with genuine feeling-_

_The way she makes everything seem better than it is, without even trying, just by_ existing-

_The way she always, always, always gets back up again-_

_The way her hair is never fully open; there's always at least one braid hidden in there somewhere or a bunch of flowers woven in like a tapestry-_

_The way her hair will never, ever, ever stay in a high ponytail for long, no matter how many hair ties she uses-_

_The way that if you look close enough, if you know what it's like to be under constant pressure, you can tell she's not always as happy or excited as she pretends to be, but she tries so hard anyway, like she only ever sees the bright side because she needs to be a light for others, because she cares so much-_

_The way she's so undeniably, impossibly, insufferably **Poppy-**_

that's why.)

** Today **

Poppy showed up in the woods.

Argued with me. 

Got snapped at 

(̶I̶ ̶w̶i̶s̶h̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶b̶e̶t̶t̶e̶r̶,̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶i̶s̶h̶ ̶I̶ ̶c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶b̶e̶t̶t̶e̶r̶)̶

Then got lost. 

Almost walked into Kelpie River

(I almost missed the flash of white mane dissolving into the water) 

Punched me in the face 

(fucking _ow._ but also totally understandable, if the world's biggest jerk was on top of me when I was alone with him in a forest I probably would've done something worse.)

Practically held hands with me 

(OK, so, it was more like I was acting like a possessive idiot, but at least she didn't punch me a second time.)

Gave me one of her soft, shy, secret smiles

(̶e̶v̶e̶r̶y̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶p̶r̶i̶o̶r̶ s̶u̶c̶k̶e̶d̶ ̶l̶e̶s̶s̶ ̶b̶e̶c̶a̶u̶s̶e̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶)̶

then left. 

Way too much stuff to comprehend in one morning, if you ask me. 

** When Your Crush Thinks You Hate Them  **

Your life will become an embodiment of pure, unfiltered

_irony._

When you remember them saying:

_"I know you hate me and hate everyone else in the entire goddamned kingdom-"_

You'll also remember wanting to say in response:

"No, I don't hate you, I actually really like you and your cute dumb face and your cute dumb smile and your cute dumb... _everything_ , but as you can see, I'm incredibly emotionally constipated and have lacked supportive parental figures for most of my life and I know I'm not the only orphan in Trollopia, obviously I know that, but my brain is literally fucked up and even though I've made your life hell for the last decade, I hope this profession of my affections is enough for you to accept me (please accept me I am _so_ lonely)-" 

But you won't say that. Obviously. Because

a) It's really, really weird to confess to someone like that

and

b) There's a 76% chance Poppy might have a heart attack and fall into a coma because of shock. 

(also she m̶i̶g̶h̶t̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ will not return said affections and your already pathetic life will fall into a downward spiral of agony and despair.) 

So. Not ideal. 

Worst of all, when you're a fucked up coward, and your crush thinks you hate them, 

you will make sure it stays that way. 

** Visions **

When you live in the woods,

alone, with no friends, 

your ever-growing paranoia your only companion, 

you will not be surprised the first time you have a vision of the apocalypse. 

It'll happen like this:

One day, you're counting your rations, 

your jars of water, your knives and your escape bombs.

You'll blink, and one minute it's pitch black 

then suddenly, there's a flash of light 

and everything is **o n f i r e**

the trees are burning

animals are racing away

you see smoke in the air

(where one of the latest parties is supposed to be) 

you hear screaming

(it sounds like Poppy)

and your instincts kick in 

and you try to move but 

ｙｏｕ ｃａｎ＇ｔ

you're stuck here, the world is ending and you can't do _anything-_

Then, just as quickly as it happens, it goes away. 

The trees are normal, there is no smoke in the air

and Poppy isn't screaming. She's safe. 

_It was just a nightmare, Branch._

A voice in my head, one that sounds suspiciously like Poppy says, 

_"More like a **day** -mare." _

If you are me, the first time this happens you'll think you're just trying to remind yourself why you do this. To keep everyone safe. 

But then you'll get visions that are... weirder. 

You'll imagine some faceless person falling off a cliff, screaming, begging for you to help but you can't, you're stuck again-

Then, on the same day, in real life, you'll see Aspen Heitz slip from his place on the top of a human pyramid and break his leg. 

You'll imagine another faceless person, in a quaint and cozy kitchen, pulling a tray of fun-fetti muffins out of the oven. In the vision, you reach out to them, and realize there's writing on the cupcakes-

_It's a boy!_

The next day, you overhear Alice Sugarmint tell her friends that she _just discovered the gender of her baby today-_

(guess what she says.) 

You'll have bizarre vision after bizarre vision;

of a tall, faceless figure juggling massive boulders, 

of a pleasantly plump faceless figure bringing home a dragon, and calling it Mr. Dinkles, 

of a faceless figure on the dance stage, spinning and spinning, until they're a typhoon and no one can get close to them-

Then something disturbingly similar happens later;

Cooper takes on juggling as a hobby, 

Biggie finds a stray cat and adopts it, names it _Mr. Dinkles,_

Mandy wins the newest dance-off by a landslide, she's practically untouchable-

It's then that I realize that maybe I'm not going crazy-

Maybe it's something w o r s e. 

_Wednesday, 11:30 am_

** Creek **

Is the bane of my existence. 

I'm not exaggerating when I say this. I'm not. 

He's arrogant and self-centered;

a lying, slimy, manipulative bastard 

who acts like he's so much better than everyone else

and wears bright yellow yoga pants and no shirt

(like, all the time)

and for some reason this makes him popular. 

Girls want to be with him, guys want to be him. 

Poppy likes to say I'm just jealous because he's so in touch with himself and nature;

I say he's untrustworthy and everyone is stupid for not seeing that. 

(̶b̶u̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶I̶ ̶s̶e̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶w̶a̶y̶ ̶s̶h̶e̶ ̶l̶o̶o̶k̶s̶ ̶a̶t̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶

̶a̶l̶l̶ ̶s̶h̶y̶ ̶s̶m̶i̶l̶e̶s̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶s̶t̶r̶u̶c̶k̶ ̶e̶y̶e̶s̶,

a̶n̶d̶ ̶I̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶ ̶m̶a̶y̶b̶e̶ ̶s̶h̶e̶'̶s̶ ̶r̶i̶g̶h̶t̶ ̶a̶b̶o̶u̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶j̶e̶a̶l̶o̶u̶s̶y̶,

b̶u̶t̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶a̶b̶o̶u̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶a̶s̶o̶n̶s̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶i̶t̶)̶

He's here at the market today. 

I spot him near a yoga kiosk

from my place at the end of another line. 

Next to him is-

_bright pink hair-_

_a familiar blue dress-_

Poppy. 

Of - fucking - course. 

They chatter animatedly;

Poppy makes tons of hand gestures,

smiling big, 

while Creek looks at her fondly. 

My fingers clench into tight fists. 

They pick two yoga mats

-one pink, one green-

and the minute Poppy turns around, 

Creek seems to look directly at me

before smirking smugly and throwing an arm around Poppy's shoulders. 

I scowl. 

"Uh... excuse me?" 

I whip my head over to the saleslady, 

realizing that everyone in front of me has already left.

"Oh." I mumble. 

The saleswoman smiles slyly 

when I pick out two tubs of silver confetti:

"See, Branch? You just couldn't stay away from all the fun for much longer, huh?" 

I keep my face blank, then ask for some of the strongest glue she has. 

This makes her frown in confusion

so I elaborate-

"I'm trying to create weapons out of silver confetti and super glue." 

She sighs, and our conversation ends there.

_Stupid Creek._

_Thursday, 2:00 am_

** Dream **

_A faceless figure rides his horse into the woods-_

_alongside trees and bushes,_

_from dawn to dusk._

_The horse has a magnificent white mane,_

_the rider has a muscular yet lean build,_

_the stars shine bright above them,_

_and everything is perfect._

**Ʉ₦₮łⱠ ł₮'₴ ₦Ø₮.**

_Until the stars in the sky_ ̸̺̺̭̺̮̿͌̏̒̒͆̎̿d̵͉͎̊̕i̸̢̪͖̪̖̦͋͑͋͛͝s̴̨͎̦͍̬͑͑̎̑͗̍̚͠͠ǎ̵͎̥̘̙̳͕̯̞̟̯̐̔͊͝p̶̞͛̓̅p̶̨̠̹̜͖̦̯̰̌͐è̴̡͚̃̒͌ą̴̨̜̬̽́̉́̂̓r̸̳̟̔̈́͛̉̅̚,̶̢̖͖͇̾͜͝, 

_Until the night is inky black **-**_

_Until it begins to rain liquid gold;_

_scorching hot yet beautiful-_

_Until everything in the woods turns to ashes-_

_Until there are screams of agony coming from everywhere and nowhere-_

_Until a melodious voice sings out (incomprehensibly)_

**I̴̗̪̻̰̜̳͍̹͑̔͒̒͘ ̵̳͎͓̑̈́̄͌͐̈̆͜s̴̙̎̈́͗͜é̷̟̏͋̓͒̓e̷̢̛͚̹͔͕̤̯̖͐̋̌̐̓̉̔̋ ̴̩̺̦̣̺̬͆̋̐̏̒͜y̵̹̎ơ̸͕͍̈̂̕ȕ̶͙r̶̤͓̝͖̹̥̟̝͓͛ ̵̢̺̺̙̘͈͔͖̘̿̒t̷͖̲͕͒̉͘ŗ̷̳̻͉͐̈́̈́̽̈͜u̴̧̝͚͋̒̍̋̏͒̾̚̚e̷͚̖͐͑͋͑͑̎͜͝ ̴̧̢̝̩̼̰̼̱̍͌͗ͅͅc̸̙̗̜̝̦̗̣̹̠͑̆ò̵͇̘̝͈̤̤͚͚̅̈́̃̔̒̚l̸̛̼͈̮̔̇̅̏͒̈́̌͊͜o̸̰̓̋̍͋̈́̓ŕ̵̡̢̩͒̋̑̃ș̸̛͉̘̠͒͊͌̾̃͠ ̷̨̦̠̟̈́̍̑͑̿̈s̴̜͚̅ḩ̵̧̃̉̉̎i̸͚̤̜̞̤̿̄̍̋̉͒̒n̸̡̢̺̮̳̰͚͙̹̐̈͘ì̷̛͚͉͚̱̣̹͑͛̾̌͋͝͝͠n̸̮̙͕͈̼̲̱̫͙͗̋ͅḡ̷̜̖͇̱̹̐̈̎̈́͋͘̚ ̷͍̍͂̎̽͠t̸̹̠̺̂̀̓̎̐̽̎̇h̴̨͍̥̳̒ŗ̷͈̝̮̐͐͗́͌̎̚͝ö̷̤̺ͅũ̵͙̲̳̲̹̘̫͖̂̓g̴̨̲͕̯̬̞̹̦͇͖̿͌h̷̛͚͉͉̲̭̮̤̮͈̞̾̐̔̂̑͑̐̑͘ -**

_Until the rider goes to pet his horse,_

_and in a fit of madness, completely unprompted,_

ｔｈｅ ｈｏｒｓｅ 

**ｂｉｔｅｓ ｔｈｅ ｒｉｄｅｒ＇ｓ ｈａｎｄ，**

_before_

_dragging_

_him_

_to_

_the_

_**de**_

_**p**_

_**t**_

_**h**_

_**s**_

**_OF KELPIE RIVER._ **

_The horse does not emerge._

_The rider does, but only hours later._

_He's dripping wet._ _Unconscious, unfeeling._

_Near the corner of his mouth, there's a fresh blotch of black ink. There's another, smaller one on his eyelid._

_Something tells me that people in town know this man. They know him quite well._

_But they don't notice he's gone until it's too late._

_Then-_

_He snaps his head up, eyes_

_ｇｌｏｗｉｎｇ ｐｕｒｐｌｅ_

_reaches over to my face_

_**plunges his hand into my chest** _

_I think I should scream but my mouth is glued shut-_

_and in a second, the stranger yanks his hand out, dripping blood_

_his mouth opens and a waterfall of ink is released_

_(ohgodohgodohgod)_

_and says,_

**_YOU DID THIS._ **

-

I wake up in a cold sweat. 

My body shakes like an earthquake;

I wrap my arms around myself, 

try to ｃａｌｍ ｄｏｗｎ.

I've never had a dream like that before. 

So vivid and bizarre, 

incomprehensible yet terrifying 

when you have the context. 

The horse from my dream

is the horse who tried to drown Poppy. 

Of that, I'm certain. 

I rub at my face with my hand, then freeze. 

My hands, once a coppery tan, 

have turned into a sickening 

_G R A Y._

The pigment starts from the tips of my fingers, 

then stops a little below my wrist, 

where it fades into my natural skin color. 

I blink. 

The gray is still there. 

I scream, 

and because my bunker is soundproof, 

because I live in the woods,

ⁿᵒ ᵒⁿᵉ ᶜᵃⁿ ʰᵉᵃʳ ᵐᵉ.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed!


	4. Man In The Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party preparations are put to an abrupt halt when a handsome young man is discovered unconscious near Kelpie River.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW!!: Death threats, physical assault/strangulation, panic attacks
> 
> For those of you who might be triggered by one particular scene, read from "He's weak and harmless," to "And branch is there."
> 
> Read with caution and stay safe!

At certain points in the future, Poppy and Branch will have small, petty fights over how their adventure even began. 

Poppy says that it began when she chose to travel through Bramblewood Forest.

Branch claims it was just bound to happen sooner or later.

They're both wrong. (They'll discover that somewhere near the end.)

Really, it starts with another story and another man, many, many years ago. 

But it's the young man who lies next to Kelpie River, out like a light, who allows it to truly begin.

-

There's two days, fifteen hours, and seven minutes left until the 200th Anniversary Party. 

There's also thirty-two things to do on her checklist for today- sorry, _was._ There _was_ thirty-two things to do on her checklist, and now there's only eight. 

There must be some leftover adrenaline in her system from her previous encounter with Branch, because for the rest of the day, she feels the odd need to prove to everyone around her that she is fine and efficient and _so_ ready to be queen. 

She's actually kind of proud of herself, of how much she managed to complete, when a tall, thin girl with frizzy purple hair and tanned skin runs up to her.

Connie Fett is the head of the Confetti department at Sky Toronto's factory, and the second tallest person in Trollopia (she stands at 6'6, lucky girl), so she's used to loud explosions and small fires and minor injuries. So it's weird to see her without any traces of soot or blood or confetti on her face, yet looking so afraid.

In fact, the last time she had looked this worried was five years ago, when Jacinta's battery had died minutes before a party and nobody nearby had a spare.

(Jacinta is Connie's favorite cannon, by the way. If you want to survive in Trollopia, just don't mess with Jacinta and you'll be fine.)

"Connie? Is everything okay?" 

"It's Branch," she says, huffing and panting like she'd just sprinted all the way here. "He's-"

"What? Is he hurt? " Poppy interrupts, concern growing in her gut. For someone so stiff and cautious, he sure didn't seem to mind throwing _himself_ into injury. Hypocrite. 

Connie waves her hands frantically. "No, no, no, that's- he's not- one sec, lemme just-" she takes several deep breaths. Poppy places a hand on Connie's shoulder (or at least, tries to. It's not easy being 5'7 and having so many friends who are taller than you) to steady her.

"He says there's somebody in the forest," Connie says at last. 

Poppy has to physically restrain herself from rolling her eyes. "Well, if it's that big of a deal to him, that someone accidentally invaded his privacy, I'll go settle things down."

"That's not all," Connie continues, eyes wide. "According to Branch, the guy's seriously injured and he's not waking up and- he- oh God, Poppy, he might be _dead._ " 

Needless to say, when Poppy showed up at Bramblewood forest, Dr. Plum in tow, the _last_ thing she expected to find lying unconscious next to Kelpie River was- 

_Familiar ombre hair_

_trademark yellow pants_

_the charm bracelet she made as a gift_

_**oh no.** _

_"Creek!"_ She all but shouts, worry pooling over in the pits of her stomach. She hastens by his side, scanning him over with her eyes. No major injuries, as far as she could tell. 

Above her, a certain blue-eyed, tan skinned figure clears his throat. 

She glances up at him, 

(only barely noticing the gloves he's wearing)

expression perturbed. 

"Branch, what _happened_?" 

"I don't know," he admits. "I just... found him here." 

"Wha- you just-"

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Dr. Plum Plimsy says, not looking very sorry at all, "but I believe I have a patient to attend to."

"Oh. Oh! Right, of course," Poppy replies, hastily getting up and stepping aside. 

Dr. Plum crouches down and presses her ear against Creek's chest. For a few moments, she is silent. 

Then she stands. "We need to get him to a hospital." 

"He's going to be okay, right?" Poppy asks frantically. 

Dr. Plum sighs. "Hopefully." 

_Deep breaths, Poppy. Creek is going to be fine._

He has to be. She couldn't bear to think otherwise. 

Next to her, Branch figets a bit. While he and Creek had never gotten along, and probably never will, that didn't mean Branch was heartless and insensitive enough to _enjoy_ seeing Creek like this - all quiet and unconcious, with no say on how it was going to end. 

Meanwhile, Dr. Plum leafs through the autopsy report, face serious. 

"Around what time did you find him, again?" she asks.

"10 a.m.," Branch responds immediately, with no hesitation, like the first thing he did when he discovered a potentially dead body near his home was check the time. He glances at her, and crosses his arms in a nonchalant manner. "He must've arrived around 8 o'clock this morning, because he wasn't there when I was patrolling the area around 6." 

"Strange," Dr. Plum mutters. "Very strange indeed." 

"How is he?" Poppy asks, her hands fidgeting anxiously. 

Dr. Plum looks grim. "Well, that's the thing. He's breathing, but his pulse is so faint I can barely feel it. He has no symptoms of poisoning, there're no signs of blunt force trauma, no major internal or external injuries... not even a scrape. On the contrary, he's still dying. I've... never quite dealt with a case like this before." 

"That's physically impossible," Branch interrupts. "Creek's twenty-two and from what I _never_ _stop hearing about_ ," his voice trails off to a grumble near the end, "he's also in perfect health. How could he be dying?" 

"Can you _save_ him?" Poppy interrupts desperately. 

"I'm... not sure. This has never, _ever_ happened before..." 

As the two continue with their back and forth, Poppy shrinks into herself a little bit, as though she's intruding. Being here is like the _'A princess, an emo, and a doctor walk into a hospital'_ joke come to life. 

She can't remember the rest of the joke, to be honest. But she's pretty sure it's this very situation, but less humorous. 

The reality is that Poppy is in a room, surrounded by arguably the two smartest people in Trollopia. Branch is a guy who lives in the woods, away from society, who is nothing if not a genius when it comes to survival (and, admittedly, pretty much everything else). Dr. Plum is the best medical professional in her field who has dedicated her life to saving people. 

So why is _Poppy_ here? What use does the pretty princess have in a hospital, when a human life is on the line? 

_You're a crown without a head, Poppy._

_Nothing more than a pretty face._

Poppy blinks and shakes her head. _Whoa. where'd that pity party come from?_

So she's not the smartest person in the world. Big deal. One day, she'll be queen, and the entire world will rest on her shoulders and the future in her palms. She can't afford to be feeling insecure. 

Not now, not ever. 

And the moment, the very _moment_ Poppy finishes that thought, the heart monitor flatlines. 

Dr. Plum races over, Branch looks... very, very grim, and Poppy's insides fill up with dread. 

_Oh, gods, please, no. Not Creek._

_Not Creek._

But before Dr. Plum can tell them that this is it, Creek is gone, it begins beeping again. 

Everyone in the room looks up at the monitor in surprise. 

"But he... he flatlined," Branch murmurs in confusion. 

"That he did," Dr. Plum responds, equally puzzled. 

Poppy stares down at him, his face blank and devoid of emotion. Eyelids closed, but no indications of him breathing. 

Then, she notices the ink blotches.

One on the Creek's left eyelid, another larger one near the corner of his mouth. Dr. Plum confirmed they had simply been ink blotches, nothing dangerous, but still-

Poppy is worried. Worried for her friend. Worried for what this might mean for the future. So she gently reaches out a tender hand, tries to wipe away the ink with the pad of her thumb- 

-and a familiar, perfectly manicured and usually gentle hand clamps roughly around her wrist. 

Creek's eyes are a deep blue, so much so that they look purple. They look... darker than she remembers. They blink erratically, and Poppy, for once, is at a loss for words. 

Then he sits up, grabbing the attention of both Dr. Plum and Branch, and stares directly into Poppy's eyes. 

"Creek?" 

Creek just blinks again, face devoid of emotion. 

"Oh," she breathes out, a huge, relieved smile making its way onto her face. "Oh, Creek, thank gods you're okay. You- you really freaked me out for a second there..." 

She trails off once she notices Creek's hand is still wrapped tightly around her wrist. 

Creek doesn't seem to recognize her. His mouth is pressed into a firm, thin line, and his eyes still blink hollowly and unusually. His grip on her wrist never wavers. 

Her smile melts away. "Uhhh... Creek? You- um, you okay, buddy?'

He scowls, suddenly, his eyes narrowing dangerously, and _glares_ at her.

If looks could kill, Poppy would literally be six feet under. He looks furious, furious with her, and she... doesn't know why. 

" _You_ ," he spits out, his nails digging into her wrist. Poppy tries to yank it away, but his grip only tightens. Her heart starts hammering like a drum in her chest. 

" _You did this_." 

From across the room, Branch visibly tenses. 

"What are you- Creek, I don't- let me _go_!" 

He doesn't. 

"You ruined my life," Creek hisses. "You destroyed _everything_ I cared about. Nina is _gone_ because of _you_!" 

Despite herself, Poppy frowns in confusion. "...Who's Nina?" 

Apparently, that had been the wrong thing to say. Creek's eyes narrow dangerously and his body trembles with rage. 

" _'Who's Nina?'_ " he repeats furiously. " _ **'Who's Nina?!'**_ "

From the corner of her eye, she spots Branch taking a protective step forward, but Dr. Plum puts a hand on his chest to stop him. "Wait," she whispers. "He just got up from a potential coma; he's weak and harmless and spitting out nonsense. He won't hurt her-" 

**"I'M GONNA _KILL_ YOU!"** Creek roars, 

and 

clamps 

both hands 

around her 

neck. 

And _squeezes_.

Creek is supposed to be a calm, collected guru. He's supposed to like yoga and meditation and overall good vibes. He's never raised his voice, much less his hand, to _anyone. Ever._

In an act of desperation, Poppy brings her own hands up to her throat and attempts to pry the unwanted pressure _off of her_ but Creek is _so_ much stronger than he looks- this is arguably the _worst_ way possible to figure that out-

_"_ Cr-Creek- _stop!_ Y-You're- you're _hurting_ me- _"_ her voice comes out all warbled and out of breath, which makes sense because of the ever present pressure growing _tighter and tighter around her throat-_

_So why is he acting like this-_ what is he _doing_ , _why_ is he doing this, **_ohmygod_ she can't _breathe_ -**

**"YOU HEAR ME?! I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU!"**

From the corner of her eye, she sees Dr. Plum grab on to one of Creek's arms and attempt to pin him down with little success. Branch is shouting but Poppy can't make out what he's saying-

she feels like she's underwater, 

voices muddling together,

heart hammering in her chest,

the battle to get _one single breath in-_

(Is this what drowning feels like?

Poppy thinks so.)

_**"I'M GONNA SLIT YOUR THROAT AND MAKE YOU WISH YOU WERE NEVER BORN-"** _

She can't look at anything other than Creek, she can't hear anything other than what he's saying, and there's a part of her that wants to slap him, to kick him where the sun doesn't shine, to _get away_ but her throat closes up and _she can't speak, she can't breathe, she can't move_ , _she's completely paralyzed ohgodohgodohgod-_

Everything is a blur; all she can see are

_those wild purplish eyes,_

_the white of the hospital bed_

_and the heart monitor going haywire - **beep, beep, beep, beep**_

_and her vision beginning to fade to black around the edges_

_and-_

_and-_

And suddenly Branch is there, roughly prying Creek's arms off of her and pulling Poppy away. 

Poppy gasps for breath, a hand flying up to massage her aching neck. Tears that were barely held at bay before are starting to slip down her cheeks. 

She keeps her head down, and because of this whatever Creek might be feeling is a mystery to her, but from his obscene curses and violent protests she thinks she has a pretty good idea. 

Branch places a hand on her back, so careful and gentle that it doesn't even startle her, shooting a deadly glare at a very pale Dr. Plum and a wild, jumpy Creek, muttering something like _"weak and harmless, my ass-"_ before leading Poppy out of the room, and down a hallway, then down a corner-

And then they are not in a glaringly white hospital room. 

They're in the children's clinic, which has soothing blue walls and a cartoony illustration of a bee and some colorful flowers on the back wall, and the grip on her shoulders is now light and gentle and concerned. 

"Poppy."

She stares at the floor. She's vaguely aware of how ragged and harsh her breathing sounds. 

"Poppy, look at me."

Hesitantly, she does. 

Branch's eyes are usually like typhoons, raging and sharp, inflicting misery on those who come too close. Now they are calmer, like the aftermath of one - greyish blue, like a cloudy sky- and Poppy is reminded of soft summer skies and cool, rippling lake water. 

Then, in the softest voice Branch has ever spoken to her with, he asks, "Poppy, are you going to be okay?" 

Not 'are you okay'. 'Are you _going_ to be okay.' 

Like he knows she's not okay and gives her no space to lie about it. Like he's really saying, 'There's a chance you might not be okay for a while, and that's fine, I'll be here until you are'. 

And Branch may be a lot of things. He might be rude, and sarcastic, and mean, and a complete fun hazard, but he's not a liar. He's never lied to her before, not even when they were kids. 

He's been there since Poppy was young and impressionable, but he tells her the truth, no matter how harsh or unnecessary it is. 

He was there then, and he's here now. 

Poppy's bottom lip quivers. Her face crumples. 

Branch jumps a little when she throws her arms around his neck, buries her face into his jacket-covered shoulder and starts _crying_. Like, actually crying- breathy gasps, raw, guttral sobs, blurry vision and a runny nose; the whole shebang. 

Poppy tries to form words - _'I'm not, I'm not okay, Branch, I'm scared, I'm really scared'-_ but she gives up sometime after she realizes that everything that comes out of her mouth sounds like a hybrid of a gasp and a sob. 

For a moment, Branch is frozen. It makes sense. He's never enjoyed hugs before, so she doubts he feels comfortable with her sobbing all over him like some wreck. She's about to pull away, to apologize for acting like this - _a real princess wouldn't be crying right now, Poppy,_ a voice in her head whispers - 

But then, slowly and shakily, Branch places one hand on the back of her head, another on her shoulder blades, and pats her back. "There, there," he says quietly. "You're okay, now." 

Maybe once she recovers from the potential trauma, she'll feel embarrassed for acting so vulnerable, especially to someone she is only kinda-sorta-friends with, but right now she just embraces the comfort and lets Branch's jacket soak up the tears. 

As she stands there, encircled in Branch's arms, a total mess, she notices that Branch is good at hugs. 

She doesn't notice the way Branch's hands clench the back of her dress in unspoken rage,

doesn't notice the way he grits his teeth and mumbles something like "He'll pay for this," 

doesn't notice the way he bends slightly forward and places a soft, gentle kiss on the top of her head.

\- 

Dr. Plum stares at Creek as he lies on the hospital bed. Creek, now heavily sedated, does not stare back. 

She doesn't know Creek personally. She has no reason to. But from what she's heard, he is supposed to be the calmest and spiritually in-touch person in Trollopia. He is a master of nature, a teacher and guide through the subconscious, a well-respected guru. 

The man who attacked the princess is no guru. That man was an animal, caged and desperate for escape. 

What Dr. Plum finds interesting is that Creek is fine. The ink blotches, according to the tests she ran, are just ink blotches. From a pen. He's not hurt, he's not suffering from pre-existing illnesses - she's pretty sure he wasn't even touched. 

There's no logical explanation to what prompted him to act that way. 

She sighs a long, long sigh. 

Then she turns around and leaves the room, just missing the way the ink blotches sink into Creek's skin, as though they were never there... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jeez this was kinda tough to write. If I got anything wrong, please please please let me know!


	5. sometimes i wonder (where these thoughts spawn from)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Branch thinks about life in the course of two days. Really. That's it. Oh, he also finds a body, witnesses an assault and has a nightmare that makes him super paranoid for the future.
> 
> (Chapter title is from Rihanna and Eminem's song Monster. Branch POV.)

_Thursday, 5:30 a.m._

**Colors**

Are a pretty big deal in Trollopia. 

You can't even walk down a single road without seeing

the silky soft hair of strangers,

a rainbow sea-

the outer walls of homes and stores, 

splattered with neon or pastel paints and glitter

like all the world is a canvas-

clothes that come in 

red

orange

yellow

green

blue

purple 

pink 

magenta

turquoise-

point is, it's everywhere. 

The ancestors believed 

that bright colors made us happy, 

and it was our happiness that kept the barrier intact, 

warded the Bergens away. 

Trollopia is kind of traditional. Always has been. 

Which is why it's so strange to see someone 

whose hair is as dark as ink, 

whose skin is so tanned and bronze-like, 

whose clothes aren't 

_red_

_orange_

_yellow_

_green_

_blue_

_purple_

_pink_

_magenta_

_turquoise,_

but instead come in the form 

of homemade camouflage pants

of a grey shirt

of a ratty dark green jacket;

whose nose isn't cute and elf-like 

but broad and accentuated, 

whose eyes aren't bright and happy

but greyish blue, like a stormy sky,

whose ears stick out, in an awkward, unattractive way,

whose mouth is set in a permanent scowl, 

who has crow's feet at the corners of their eyes, 

who has long, ungraceful legs, perfect for running and climbing but not so great for general appearances, 

who has a sturdy build and broad shoulders, but not in an endearing or handsome way, 

who, no matter how hard they try to be better, will never be better; 

someone

who 

is like 

ｍｅ. 

** My Hands  **

Are still grey.

The color hasn't spread

from further than 

the top half of my fingers, 

but I know enough about poisons and illnesses

to understand that it won't stop there. 

Nobody can see me like this. 

Nobody needs to think there's anything else wrong with me. 

So I dig around my box of gardening supplies,

hidden away on my bookshelf, 

until I find them:

thick, black gloves

that are made of special fabric,

that are comfortable and lightweight 

but possess a strong grip as well. 

Poppy gave them to me about a year ago. 

(They were too big for me at the time, 

but I said thank you anyway, tried to give her a small smile, 

and Poppy's face had lit up like a Christmas tree. 

I think that one, single smile is the reason

she still thinks I'm good.)

They are perfect. 

If the grey does spread, 

no one will see it beneath the gloves _and_ my jacket. 

It's almost six, 

so I throw on my survival pack 

(just in case)

make my way to the elevator shaft and pull the lever. 

And I've never been one for optimism, 

but a small part of me, 

the part of me that facepalms every time I lose my temper, 

the part of me that screams _'WHYYYYYY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?!_ ' every time I hurt someone (Poppy, usually),

the part of me that sings odes to Poppy's hair, smile, eyes, 

b̶o̶d̶y̶ ̶(̶o̶h̶ ̶m̶y̶ ̶g̶o̶d̶ ̶d̶i̶d̶ ̶I̶ ̶r̶e̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ ̶j̶u̶s̶t̶ ̶w̶r̶i̶t̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶?̶ ̶p̶l̶e̶a̶s̶e̶ ̶p̶r̶e̶t̶e̶n̶d̶ ̶I̶ ̶n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ ̶w̶r̶o̶t̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶o̶h̶ ̶m̶y̶ _̶g̶o̶d̶)̶,_

this part of me tries to reassure me that everything is going to be okay. 

_Thursday, 10:00 a.m._

** Yellow **

Creek's fashion sense has always irked me. 

It's like... if I wear camo pants and a leaf green jacket, that makes me a hooligan, 

(a direct, unfiltered quote from Fashion Thing One)

but if Creek parades around in neon yellow yoga pants without a shirt 

he's 'serene' and 'mature' and oh-so-fucking _perfect-_

What kind of logic is that?

Anyway, I'm not exactly sure what it is about those pants, 

but I hate them. 

(they finish third place on my list of Things I Hate,

right after Creek himself.)

Maybe it's the fact that yellow is bright and recognizable;

when the Bergens find us, 

(and they _will_ , I know that much,)

Creek's dumb pants will play some part in it, no matter how small.

Maybe it's because Poppy adores those pants. 

She says they're cute. 

(they are not.)

Maybe it's just because I hate Creek, and so I hate Creek's pants by association. 

Who knows? Who cares?

Anyway, it's not like this is all one-sided. 

Creek thinks I'm a borderline psychopath in dire need of color and a positive mindset.

(Gee-whiz, I had no idea it was that easy! All I have to do is just... be positive? Everything is okay now!)

Creek is somewhat civil with me when it's just me and him. 

Or, as civil as Creek can be; 

lies and patronization and flowery language slip out of his mouth 

at every turn. 

Especially in front of Poppy.

He takes great care in making me look like a freak when he's with Poppy. 

Plain and simple, I hate those pants. 

So when the sole reason Creek doesn't _die_ turns out to be 

because 

of said pants-

Well. The irony is almost painful.

He was just lying there, 

next to Kelpie River,

face to the side, 

palms flat on the ground, 

soaking wet. 

His pants contrast so deeply against the subtle greenery of the forest 

that it would've been literally impossible not to spot him. 

There's something about him, 

something about the way he lies so still, 

that sets off warning bells in my brain

**_(̶f̶i̶r̶e̶-̶ ̶c̶r̶u̶m̶b̶l̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶r̶u̶b̶b̶l̶e̶-̶ ̶w̶a̶k̶e̶ ̶u̶p̶ ̶g̶r̶a̶n̶d̶m̶a̶ ̶w̶a̶k̶e̶ ̶u̶p̶ ̶w̶a̶k̶e̶ ̶u̶p̶ ̶w̶a̶k̶e̶ ̶u̶p̶)̶_ **

something that makes me still for longer than necessary. 

It's the slightest of movement 

a twitch of Creek's fingers

that snaps me out of the haze. 

And regardless of what Creek says, 

I'm not a psychopath. 

So I rush out of the woods, 

grab onto the arm of some purple-haired weirdo, 

explain:

_There's a body next to Kelpie River, get Poppy, get Dr. Plum- hurry!_

And then I wait. 

_Thursday, 10:45 a.m._

** Fear **

When the heart monitor flatlines, 

I'm afraid. 

If Creek is dead, that means something killed him, 

and that means 

we are all in danger. 

When Creek wakes up, 

I'm afraid. 

If Creek is still alive, all on his own, even after he flatlined, 

that means whatever did this to him didn't intend to kill him,

and something worse is coming. 

When Creek repeats the words from my dream, 

I am afraid. 

If Creek is paralleling my dream, 

that means he's going to do something the normal Creek would never do. 

When Creek grabs Poppy's neck, when he screams profanities and squeezes around soft flesh, 

I am afraid. 

So for a moment, I freeze. 

But then I'm moving, 

moving Creek away from Poppy, moving Poppy away from the room, 

and I am afraid, yes, but there's something else, 

there's another feeling there, 

one a bit like-

** Fury **

In

my 

arms, 

Poppy 

ｓｈａｋｅｓ

like a leaf. 

There

are 

dainty 

hands 

thrown 

around 

my neck.

My 

shoulder 

has 

become 

soaked 

with tears. 

**_Poppy's tears._ **

Only ten doors down 

from this one

is the man who made her cry. 

_I'll kill him._

_I'll kill him I'll kill him I'll kill him **I'll kill him-**_

** After  **

Poppy's grip on me has loosened, 

hands sliding down from around my neck

to my shoulders

to my chest. 

She lifts her head, 

drops her hands altogether, 

then steps away. 

Sniffles. 

Rubs at her eyes. 

Tilts her head up to look at me. 

Then-

gives me the smallest, softest, sincerest smile. 

** What She Says: **

Thank you. 

** What I Want to Say Back (but don't): **

_I'm sorry for what happened-_

_I'll never let anything like that ever happen to you again-_

_I love you I love you I love you **I love you-**_

** What I Actually Say Back (after a little hesitation): **

Anytime. 

_Friday, 1:56 a.m._

** Nightmare **

One minute, my eyes had closed. 

The next, 

I'm in Town Square. 

A giant stage is at the center, 

surrounded by literally all of Trollopia. 

On the stage is Poppy, 

dressed in a shimmering teal sleeveless garment, 

having the time of her life.

Above her is a giant banner that reads

**_HAPPY 200th ANNIVERSARY!_ **

My first instinct is to panic, to wonder how I got here, 

but then 

I realize 

that 

something 

is 

ｗｒｏｎｇ.

I look around. 

Blink. 

Rub at my eyes when I see 

that except for 

Poppy, 

_no one else has a face._

The colors around me are 

warped and blurry, 

like an old memory

that I can't quite place.

The voices around me get quieter and quieter, 

Like someone has kept lowering the sound controls, over and over again, 

until there was nothing at all. 

People are still jumping up and down and dancing to their hearts content, 

but everything around me is silent. 

There's no shouting

no music

no singing

no _nothing._

_And then-_

T̸̛͖͕̼̳̮̬̞̓̈́͜ú̷͚̘̞̯͖͈̝͂̉̉̑̄̕͠,̷̧̱̤̟͔̀͑́̐̋ ̸͔̞̀͆̊̍͛̋͝c̸̮̫͉̘̬͋̌̄̔̕ö̷̙͙̓͒n̷̢̯̹͎̱̦̘̭̭̠͊̌̄ ̵̳̯̟ͅl̴̛̘̖̪̿̐̓́̔͐͝o̵̲͔͕̘͗s̶͈͔͖͕͖̺̱̠͈̾̽ ̶̬̯͈̄͜͠ó̶̡̭̻͙̙̣͖͐̓͜j̸̰̰̘̜͆̓ͅȏ̵͉͕̰̩̏̽̈́̔̈́̃s̶̟̟̣͓̮̆̐́̄̕ ̶̖̎͆̃͆͘t̴͍͒́ͅr̵̳̊̿̑̽̓̚̚i̷̧̢͔̲̞̫͗͂͊̂̐͝s̷̥̥̹̤̃̅t̶̡̨̮͇͓͙̞̥̣͑̉ͅē̴͇͉̖͊̀̈́

a voice. 

Warped and distorted. 

But also hauntingly beautiful. 

Clear as day amid the silence. 

It repeats. 

T̸̛͖͕̼̳̮̬̞̓̈́͜ú̷͚̘̞̯͖͈̝͂̉̉̑̄̕͠,̷̧̱̤̟͔̀͑́̐̋ ̸͔̞̀͆̊̍͛̋͝c̸̮̫͉̘̬͋̌̄̔̕ö̷̙͙̓͒n̷̢̯̹͎̱̦̘̭̭̠͊̌̄ ̵̳̯̟ͅl̴̛̘̖̪̿̐̓́̔͐͝o̵̲͔͕̘͗s̶͈͔͖͕͖̺̱̠͈̾̽ ̶̬̯͈̄͜͠ó̶̡̭̻͙̙̣͖͐̓͜j̸̰̰̘̜͆̓ͅȏ̵͉͕̰̩̏̽̈́̔̈́̃s̶̟̟̣͓̮̆̐́̄̕ ̶̖̎͆̃͆͘t̴͍͒́ͅr̵̳̊̿̑̽̓̚̚i̷̧̢͔̲̞̫͗͂͊̂̐͝s̷̥̥̹̤̃̅t̶̡̨̮͇͓͙̞̥̣͑̉ͅē̴͇͉̖͊̀̈́

Again. 

T̸̛͖͕̼̳̮̬̞̓̈́͜ú̷͚̘̞̯͖͈̝͂̉̉̑̄̕͠,̷̧̱̤̟͔̀͑́̐̋ ̸͔̞̀͆̊̍͛̋͝c̸̮̫͉̘̬͋̌̄̔̕ö̷̙͙̓͒n̷̢̯̹͎̱̦̘̭̭̠͊̌̄ ̵̳̯̟ͅl̴̛̘̖̪̿̐̓́̔͐͝o̵̲͔͕̘͗s̶͈͔͖͕͖̺̱̠͈̾̽ ̶̬̯͈̄͜͠ó̶̡̭̻͙̙̣͖͐̓͜j̸̰̰̘̜͆̓ͅȏ̵͉͕̰̩̏̽̈́̔̈́̃s̶̟̟̣͓̮̆̐́̄̕ ̶̖̎͆̃͆͘t̴͍͒́ͅr̵̳̊̿̑̽̓̚̚i̷̧̢͔̲̞̫͗͂͊̂̐͝s̷̥̥̹̤̃̅t̶̡̨̮͇͓͙̞̥̣͑̉ͅē̴͇͉̖͊̀̈́

And again. 

T̸̛͖͕̼̳̮̬̞̓̈́͜ú̷͚̘̞̯͖͈̝͂̉̉̑̄̕͠,̷̧̱̤̟͔̀͑́̐̋ ̸͔̞̀͆̊̍͛̋͝c̸̮̫͉̘̬͋̌̄̔̕ö̷̙͙̓͒n̷̢̯̹͎̱̦̘̭̭̠͊̌̄ ̵̳̯̟ͅl̴̛̘̖̪̿̐̓́̔͐͝o̵̲͔͕̘͗s̶͈͔͖͕͖̺̱̠͈̾̽ ̶̬̯͈̄͜͠ó̶̡̭̻͙̙̣͖͐̓͜j̸̰̰̘̜͆̓ͅȏ̵͉͕̰̩̏̽̈́̔̈́̃s̶̟̟̣͓̮̆̐́̄̕ ̶̖̎͆̃͆͘t̴͍͒́ͅr̵̳̊̿̑̽̓̚̚i̷̧̢͔̲̞̫͗͂͊̂̐͝s̷̥̥̹̤̃̅t̶̡̨̮͇͓͙̞̥̣͑̉ͅē̴͇͉̖͊̀̈́

And _againandagainandagain-_

_T̸̛͖͕̼̳̮̬̞̓̈́͜ú̷͚̘̞̯͖͈̝͂̉̉̑̄̕͠,̷̧̱̤̟͔̀͑́̐̋ ̸͔̞̀͆̊̍͛̋͝c̸̮̫͉̘̬͋̌̄̔̕ö̷̙͙̓͒n̷̢̯̹͎̱̦̘̭̭̠͊̌̄ ̵̳̯̟ͅl̴̛̘̖̪̿̐̓́̔͐͝o̵̲͔͕̘͗s̶͈͔͖͕͖̺̱̠͈̾̽ ̶̬̯͈̄͜͠ó̶̡̭̻͙̙̣͖͐̓͜j̸̰̰̘̜͆̓ͅȏ̵͉͕̰̩̏̽̈́̔̈́̃s̶̟̟̣͓̮̆̐́̄̕ ̶̖̎͆̃͆͘t̴͍͒́ͅr̵̳̊̿̑̽̓̚̚i̷̧̢͔̲̞̫͗͂͊̂̐͝s̷̥̥̹̤̃̅t̶̡̨̮͇͓͙̞̥̣͑̉ͅē̴͇͉̖͊̀̈́T̸̛͖͕̼̳̮̬̞̓̈́͜ú̷͚̘̞̯͖͈̝͂̉̉̑̄̕͠,̷̧̱̤̟͔̀͑́̐̋ ̸͔̞̀͆̊̍͛̋͝c̸̮̫͉̘̬͋̌̄̔̕ö̷̙͙̓͒n̷̢̯̹͎̱̦̘̭̭̠͊̌̄ ̵̳̯̟ͅl̴̛̘̖̪̿̐̓́̔͐͝o̵̲͔͕̘͗s̶͈͔͖͕͖̺̱̠͈̾̽ ̶̬̯͈̄͜͠ó̶̡̭̻͙̙̣͖͐̓͜j̸̰̰̘̜͆̓ͅȏ̵͉͕̰̩̏̽̈́̔̈́̃s̶̟̟̣͓̮̆̐́̄̕ ̶̖̎͆̃͆͘t̴͍͒́ͅr̵̳̊̿̑̽̓̚̚i̷̧̢͔̲̞̫͗͂͊̂̐͝s̷̥̥̹̤̃̅t̶̡̨̮͇͓͙̞̥̣͑̉ͅē̴͇͉̖͊̀̈́T̸̛͖͕̼̳̮̬̞̓̈́͜ú̷͚̘̞̯͖͈̝͂̉̉̑̄̕͠,̷̧̱̤̟͔̀͑́̐̋ ̸͔̞̀͆̊̍͛̋͝c̸̮̫͉̘̬͋̌̄̔̕ö̷̙͙̓͒n̷̢̯̹͎̱̦̘̭̭̠͊̌̄ ̵̳̯̟ͅl̴̛̘̖̪̿̐̓́̔͐͝o̵̲͔͕̘͗s̶͈͔͖͕͖̺̱̠͈̾̽ ̶̬̯͈̄͜͠ó̶̡̭̻͙̙̣͖͐̓͜j̸̰̰̘̜͆̓ͅȏ̵͉͕̰̩̏̽̈́̔̈́̃s̶̟̟̣͓̮̆̐́̄̕ ̶̖̎͆̃͆͘t̴͍͒́ͅr̵̳̊̿̑̽̓̚̚i̷̧̢͔̲̞̫͗͂͊̂̐͝s̷̥̥̹̤̃̅t̶̡̨̮͇͓͙̞̥̣͑̉ͅē̴͇͉̖͊̀̈́_

Then-

The thundering of horses 

the shouting of warriors

the smoke in the air-

My stomach fills up with dread. 

_The Bergens._

_The Bergens are here._

Poppy comes to this realization the same time I do;

I know because she's currently staring at me, 

body rigid

mouth agape 

eyes wide with horror and shock. 

I close my eyes, just for a moment, just 

to 

c a l m d o w n, 

but when I open them, 

the sound has returned

and

**_all hell has broken loose._ **

What was once a happy party place 

is now engulfed in 

**F L A M E S.**

People are 

screaming, 

crying, 

running to safety,

as the sky clouds over with smoke. 

through it all, the _goddamned_ voice keeps _singing-_

**T̸̛͖͕̼̳̮̬̞̓̈́͜ú̷͚̘̞̯͖͈̝͂̉̉̑̄̕͠,̷̧̱̤̟͔̀͑́̐̋ ̸͔̞̀͆̊̍͛̋͝c̸̮̫͉̘̬͋̌̄̔̕ö̷̙͙̓͒n̷̢̯̹͎̱̦̘̭̭̠͊̌̄ ̵̳̯̟ͅl̴̛̘̖̪̿̐̓́̔͐͝o̵̲͔͕̘͗s̶͈͔͖͕͖̺̱̠͈̾̽ ̶̬̯͈̄͜͠ó̶̡̭̻͙̙̣͖͐̓͜j̸̰̰̘̜͆̓ͅȏ̵͉͕̰̩̏̽̈́̔̈́̃s̶̟̟̣͓̮̆̐́̄̕ ̶̖̎͆̃͆͘t̴͍͒́ͅr̵̳̊̿̑̽̓̚̚i̷̧̢͔̲̞̫͗͂͊̂̐͝s̷̥̥̹̤̃̅t̶̡̨̮͇͓͙̞̥̣͑̉ͅē̴͇͉̖͊̀̈́**

but then it slows down, like a broken mixtape-

**_T̶̛̜͎̖̘̣͌̾͐̊͌̈͗̏ú̸͔̙͇̯͓̠̇́̈̔̅̑̄̉͌͠,̵̗͉̦̙̈́͋͗͂̉̑͠ con l̵͍̝̰̩͉̞̩͓̤̏̍̏̿̽͌͗̍̚ǒ̷̖̦̱͇̬̈́͛̿̋̽ş̴̛̭̠͎͚̩̣̯̣̆̍̔̐̐ ojos ̶̞͖͖̣̭̹͗̒͌̃̆̐̐̑͑t̷̡͕̰̭͖̀̋̽̈́͂͋͝ř̸̨̛̎̚̚i̵̧͈̯̻̤̜͎̍̅͋̔̍͋̇̅͜͠s̷̨̛̟͗͌͌͠t̵̯͐ȩ̷̧̩̬̯̪̮̪͈͋̓̆̈́̔͊͒̄̋͜_ **

Over, and over and over again

_**T̶̛̜͎̖̘̣͌̾͐̊͌̈͗̏ú̸͔̙͇̯͓̠̇́̈̔̅̑̄̉͌͠,̵̗͉̦̙̈́͋͗͂̉̑͠ con l̵͍̝̰̩͉̞̩͓̤̏̍̏̿̽͌͗̍̚ǒ̷̖̦̱͇̬̈́͛̿̋̽ş̴̛̭̠͎͚̩̣̯̣̆̍̔̐̐ ojos ̶̞͖͖̣̭̹͗̒͌̃̆̐̐̑͑t̷̡͕̰̭͖̀̋̽̈́͂͋͝ř̸̨̛̎̚̚i̵̧͈̯̻̤̜͎̍̅͋̔̍͋̇̅͜͠s̷̨̛̟͗͌͌͠t̵̯͐ȩ̷̧̩̬̯̪̮̪͈͋̓̆̈́̔͊͒̄̋͜T̶̛̜͎̖̘̣͌̾͐̊͌̈͗̏ú̸͔̙͇̯͓̠̇́̈̔̅̑̄̉͌͠,̵̗͉̦̙̈́͋͗͂̉̑͠ con l̵͍̝̰̩͉̞̩͓̤̏̍̏̿̽͌͗̍̚ǒ̷̖̦̱͇̬̈́͛̿̋̽ş̴̛̭̠͎͚̩̣̯̣̆̍̔̐̐ ojos ̶̞͖͖̣̭̹͗̒͌̃̆̐̐̑͑t̷̡͕̰̭͖̀̋̽̈́͂͋͝ř̸̨̛̎̚̚i̵̧͈̯̻̤̜͎̍̅͋̔̍͋̇̅͜͠s̷̨̛̟͗͌͌͠t̵̯͐ȩ̷̧̩̬̯̪̮̪͈͋̓̆̈́̔͊͒̄̋͜T̶̛̜͎̖̘̣͌̾͐̊͌̈͗̏ú̸͔̙͇̯͓̠̇́̈̔̅̑̄̉͌͠,̵̗͉̦̙̈́͋͗͂̉̑͠ con l̵͍̝̰̩͉̞̩͓̤̏̍̏̿̽͌͗̍̚ǒ̷̖̦̱͇̬̈́͛̿̋̽ş̴̛̭̠͎͚̩̣̯̣̆̍̔̐̐ ojos ̶̞͖͖̣̭̹͗̒͌̃̆̐̐̑͑t̷̡͕̰̭͖̀̋̽̈́͂͋͝ř̸̨̛̎̚̚i̵̧͈̯̻̤̜͎̍̅͋̔̍͋̇̅͜͠s̷̨̛̟͗͌͌͠t̵̯͐ȩ̷̧̩̬̯̪̮̪͈͋̓̆̈́̔͊͒̄̋͜** _

Poppy is kneeling on the stage, 

face smudged with soot, 

ponytail undone, 

cuts and scrapes littering her hands and legs. 

The Bergens have not taken her, 

to my relief, 

but that feeling soon slips away when I realize 

that almost everyone else is gone. 

From the stage, Poppy stares 

unblinking, 

unmoving. 

The voice sings those warped, haunting words one last time

(T̶̛̜͎̖̘̣͌̾͐̊͌̈͗̏ú̸͔̙͇̯͓̠̇́̈̔̅̑̄̉͌͠,̵̗͉̦̙̈́͋͗͂̉̑͠ con l̵͍̝̰̩͉̞̩͓̤̏̍̏̿̽͌͗̍̚ǒ̷̖̦̱͇̬̈́͛̿̋̽ş̴̛̭̠͎͚̩̣̯̣̆̍̔̐̐ ojos ̶̞͖͖̣̭̹͗̒͌̃̆̐̐̑͑t̷̡͕̰̭͖̀̋̽̈́͂͋͝ř̸̨̛̎̚̚i̵̧͈̯̻̤̜͎̍̅͋̔̍͋̇̅͜͠s̷̨̛̟͗͌͌͠t̵̯͐ȩ̷̧̩̬̯̪̮̪͈͋̓̆̈́̔͊͒̄̋͜)

and just when I realize what it means, 

what the voice is trying to say, 

Poppy screams, 

an ear shattering, 

heart breaking sound and-

and- 

** I Wake Up  **

To the sound 

of my pounding heart 

and the ringing in my ears. 

Abruptly, I sit up in bed. 

Squeeze my eyes shut. 

Breathe deep. 

I glance down at my hands and freeze. 

The grey coloring has now spread 

to

halfway down my hands. 

Panic bubbles up inside me 

like a geyser. 

_What is happening to me?_

I hold my shaking hand to my chest.

The voice rings in my head one final time. 

_T̶̛̜͎̖̘̣͌̾͐̊͌̈͗̏ú̸͔̙͇̯͓̠̇́̈̔̅̑̄̉͌͠,̵̗͉̦̙̈́͋͗͂̉̑͠ con l̵͍̝̰̩͉̞̩͓̤̏̍̏̿̽͌͗̍̚ǒ̷̖̦̱͇̬̈́͛̿̋̽ş̴̛̭̠͎͚̩̣̯̣̆̍̔̐̐ ojos ̶̞͖͖̣̭̹͗̒͌̃̆̐̐̑͑t̷̡͕̰̭͖̀̋̽̈́͂͋͝ř̸̨̛̎̚̚i̵̧͈̯̻̤̜͎̍̅͋̔̍͋̇̅͜͠s̷̨̛̟͗͌͌͠t̵̯͐ȩ̷̧̩̬̯̪̮̪͈͋̓̆̈́̔͊͒̄̋͜_

_Tú, con los ojos triste._

I recognize the language. I don't know how, but I do. 

It's the same language that Grandpa spoke in. 

_What could that mean?_

Regardless, this is not the first time I've had a vision of the Bergens coming, 

but it is the clearest. 

there are more details here that ever before-

the vibrancy of Poppy's hair,

the banner,

the colors,

the music-

Unless I'm wrong, unless every time my visions were right were just coincidence, 

unless

I 

truly am

crazy, 

The Bergens are going to attack on Saturday. 

_And there's nothing anyone can do to stop it._

** Friday **

Passes by in a blur. 

There's really no better way to describe it. 

Just. One, big blur. 

There are faces of people who know me, who have never been particularly antagonistic towards me, but every conversation I have with them seems to be milliseconds, when in reality it could've been minutes. One of them could've lasted half an hour.

Who's to say?

I remember warning some of the nicer ones about the Bergens. 

They had smiled awkwardly. 

Tried to muffle snickers behind the fists they pressed to their mouths.

The nice ones, no matter how kind, are still asshole-ish enough to just assume that everything I say is just crazy talk. 

I collect sticks. 

I buy super-durable twine. 

I build traps and elaborate alarm systems around Kelpie River. 

I double check that the escape routes will be ready to use. 

I make sure my bunker is properly camouflaged. 

I take as many precautions as I possibly can. 

Get ready for the night. 

And wait for the morning, 

when I'll have to do all of this again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry for the wait. I really appreciate the comments you guys gave me last chapter. I'm hoping the next chapter might be up around Friday.


End file.
